Peter Doiron was known to town watchers as the poet of public comment and frequent writer of letters to the editor to this and other newspapers. He was quite a bit more than that, but in this realm he is no more.

Doiron died this week from a cancer that kept him in and out of health for the past two years.

His orations were prepared and timed to remain within the three-minute stage that council’s public comment rules provide. He always began with the same Suessian refrain: “I am Peter Doiron, and I’m a Barnstable Who.”

It’s a reference to those Whoville residents whose plaintive cries of “We are here” could only be heard by Horton the Elephant. Doiron wanted to be heard by more.

His approach often required a careful ear and an understanding of the current political climate. He no doubt left casual observers behind, but for those in tune with the rhythm of the times his offerings resonated, though not always agreeably.

It’s easier to relegate and lump criticism into an indistinguishable mass than understand the individual sources. Doiron was so categorized, although the librarian in him knew he was on the wrong shelf.

Considered in the same breath as other town critics, Doiron never saw himself as belonging to any one group. He was never in lock-step march with anyone but himself.

That’s not to say he stood alone, but that he found need to answer to himself and powers of distinctly higher authority.

He wore a piece of the Holy Land around his neck. The smooth, tooth-like stone was ever present. It was never the subject of extended conversation, but it and what it represented were clearly important.

Doiron grew up in Centerville, where his family extends some generations back. He left for war in Korea from that village, something that caused his name to be carved into the Centerville War Memorial unveiled last Memorial Day.

Much of Doiron’s adult life was spent elsewhere, but he returned to the town in retirement, calling Barnstable Village home. From nearly the instant he regained those roots he became involved.

When Doiron committed himself as a candidate for charter commission last year, he understood the state of his health but refused to let it keep him from pursuing what he felt should be done. So he ran. That he was not successful brought disappointment but not defeat. Winning was not the only purpose of the campaign.

He was more than curmudgeonly, less than cantankerous and always hoping to be heard.

I’d like to say we heard that Who, or at the very least tried to.

Our thoughts are with his wife Sylvia and his family.

Peace be with you, Peter.

DS II

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